


Where Ships Have Sank, Trying to Rescue Me

by bessemerprocess



Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Multi, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-26
Updated: 2009-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/pseuds/bessemerprocess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter just wants to be alone in his own brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Ships Have Sank, Trying to Rescue Me

**Author's Note:**

> For kink_bingo, prompt: breathplay. Two bodies sharing six people and some complicated consent issues. Olivia (John)/Peter (Nick, Olivia, John).

Sometimes, Peter can't think past the voices in his head. Nobody should share brain space with three other people. Three other loud people who all feel just entitled to his brain as he is.

Nick wants to die. Olivia wants to know the truth. John wants to protect Olivia, though it's a toss up between Olivia-with-the-body and the Olivia in Peter's head. John and Olivia came together as a team, invading his brain after Nick had paved the way. It doesn't matter, Peter just wants them all to be quiet.

They're in a motel in Kansas, because no one would think to look for them in Kansas. At least, this is what John--the one in Olivia's head--thinks. Peter isn't so sure, but it's so hard to think these days he can't be sure.

Peter is exhausted and Olivia and Nick are arguing over something, and John is pacing his brain like a caged animal. He throws himself down on the bed with a, "shut the goddamn fuck up," for good measure.

Olivia looks at him, smiles, and then she's on top of him, nibbling at his neck. He holds his breath as she shimmies out of her shirt; the counted seconds mixing with the pale expanse of her skin. He's to fifty-five and gray edged vision by the time her pants join her shirt on the floor. Nick is silent and John is pouting and the Olivia-in-his-head has disappeared. He inhales, letting the oxygen fill his lungs.

It's amazing what oxygen does for person. It's so ordinary, so forgettable, but without it there is no color to Olivia's skin, no voices in his head. He can live with a certain grayness if it gives him back his own brain, if only for a moment.

He flips her back onto the bed, naked and smiling, and runs his tongue over her body. Peter kisses the junction of thigh and body, trailing his way down to her clit, holding his breath the whole time. It's hard to do by himself, harder still to do with his mouth open, but he's turned it into a contest: how few breaths can he take before Olivia comes.

This time it's six, almost seven. He's straining against the need to breathe when Olivia comes under his tongue, and he gasps for air as she shudders.

***

Finally, he is naked under her. Olivia settles down on him, enjoying the noises he makes as he slides home. She rocks, fast and hard, feeling the pleasure build up in the pit of her stomach again.

A hand on her hip stills her pace. "Please," Peter begs, "please."

Olivia knows what he wants, but she hates doing this, no matter how much she can feel Peter's need. She wonders how much of it is him and how much of it is Nick. They both know someday, she'll slip, loose control, and the John-in-her-head will step in and Peter will die. It's not that John wants Peter himself dead, no, John is more concerned with the other John, the alternate John who lives in Peter's brain. Peter is just a bonus.

Peter looks up at her though, and she gives in. "Okay," she says, "okay," and caresses his throat. The stubble under her hand is rough, almost sharp. It pricks her hand a bit as she runs it over his throat.

She presses down, hand crooked just right. It's actually John's muscle memory. He'd always used it in the field; she's the one who appropriated for the bed. For Peter.

She presses harder, and Peter's face starts to go red as he pants beneath her. It doesn't matter, there may be oxygen in his lungs, but it's not making it to his brain.

Olivia admits to herself, back in the far corner where John can't peek, that she enjoys Peter like this. That the sight of him beneath her, red faced and straining is more erotic than she ever thought it could be.

For a moment before she comes again, Peter's face goes still and blissful. In the second between consciousness and unconsciousness, the voices go away and the only person under her is Peter. He grins and she remembers why she does this: it makes him happy.

Peter comes and passes out, or maybe the other way around, she's not sure. His hand falls from her hip and she lets go, letting all that pent up blood oxygenate his brain, and then rolls off of him.

Olivia curls beside Peter and stays there, watching the the simple fall and rise of his chest.


End file.
